


The Blackout

by villlanelle



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Apocalypse, Blackouts, Blood, Blood and Gore, Death, Family, Family Angst, Gen, Horror, Mental Breakdown, Mild Gore, Original Fiction, Psychological Horror, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:33:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22027885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/villlanelle/pseuds/villlanelle
Summary: The Earth suffers a planet-wide blackout, leaving humanity without electricity or the internet. How will one family overcome and survive?
Kudos: 1





	The Blackout

When I was 19 years old, Earth lost all power. There was a total blackout across continents, our technology was lost. As you know, the internet was a big thing for us back then. We couldn’t live without it, not even a day.

Well, we went 10 years without it. At first, we didn’t know what caused it. The only news source we had were from radios which, thankfully, my family still owned. The government didn’t update us until two days after, telling us that it was caused by a broken space satellite and busted power plants, across the planet. My only question was, _what caused it all?_

I was suspicious at the time because of their voice, it was so monotone. It sounded dead, as if they felt defeated. They didn’t keep us updated at all, it was a waiting game. In the meantime, people in our neighborhood began to stock up on necessities, which lead to greater issues. The lights turn off and all of a sudden, people start ransacking stores and fighting others that get in their way. It was like the purge broke out. 

The worst of it was all the banks were down. No one carried cash anymore, and if they did, the money went fast. There was no way to access checking or saving accounts. Leaving us broke, and to fend for ourselves through the mob of people ready to make the apocalypse happen. You would think, being without power would not equal a start to an apocalypse. But no, that day in age it was the equivalent to an uprise. Our planet was blackened. What else was there to do but reset our fuse boxe and hope the power came back. 

Soon enough, my family and others had to create a barrier between the doors and windows to prevent break-ins. We used boards of wood and nailed it against every point of entrance, along with chains with deadbolts being wrapped around. If we wanted to leave, we would have to go through a cycle of unlocking and taking the nails out— just to nail it back and lock it again when we left and came back. 

My family had stocked up long before this had happened, they were a bit paranoid about the world ending so they filled our basement with canned foods and gallons of water ages ago. I used to think they were crazy for doing so, always telling them we would never need or use any of that shit. I was wrong— we needed it more than ever. We lived in a really nice spacious house in the suburbs, that being said— people automatically assumed we were stocked up and well off. Which lead to our house being targeted more than the others. 

It sucked, truly. Sitting in the dark all day with the little light from the sun that peaked in, doing nothing. I wrote a lot, more so about what was happening. I wanted to be a writer one day. My little brother kept to himself, drawing a lot and playing his guitar. My parents did what parents do, took care of their children the best they could with the little they had. They were great parents, I really loved them. They always put my brother and I first, no matter what. 

My mother was the most compassionate, loving, intelligent, and creative person I’ve ever met in my life. When my brother and I were younger, she would take us in the living room, which she decorated as if it were a little cafe. She had us prepare small poems for each of us to read to her, as she went and made hot cocoa and cookies for us to snack on afterwards. She loved events like open mics at a coffee shop, it was heartwarming. 

My brother and I mainly stayed put down in the basement, just because the noises were too loud when we were upstairs. You could hear gun shots and harrowing screams. I couldn’t believe how insane people became after the power outage, the rage that people showed. It infuriated me to see the hatred and anger affecting all of us— the dwindling in humanity, why couldn’t we work together? No— no one wanted to work together, they felt as it was everyone for themselves. Survival of the fittest. 

I was lucky to be in a loving family that was committed and dedicated to keeping us all alive, somewhat healthy, and protected. My father owned a rifle and a few hand guns, so we had defense against any person that would try us. The feeling of steel cold metal in my hand was awful, I hated it. My father insisted on showing all of us how to use it though, just in case. 

Time passed, still no power. We had plenty of food left, we began to ration it though. The neighborhood had gone quiet, you could still hear screaming every now and then but it wasn’t as consistent as the month before. The government would tune in once or twice every three weeks— just letting everyone know they have engineers working on the power plants as well as repairing the satellites. We could go without internet, as long as we were able to retain electricity again. 

Within those months, we had several break-ins. I even had to use the hand gun that I dreaded to pick up, at one point.

The first break-in, was two middle aged men ready to kill just for the fun of it. It was terrifying, just seeing the grin on their face as they got a kick out of slashing my mother’s neck. I’ve never felt a pain that reached my heart so deeply—it ached. It was almost as if those men themselves drove the knife into my chest, carving out slivers of my heart. My brother was in the basement at the time, my father and I were upstairs where it happened. My father didn’t shoot his rifle fast enough. They dug the knife through her throat in one quick swipe, and a second later a shot got fired. Then another— and another. My father killed them in a rage, and hell, I wish I could of even pulled the trigger. I was in shock from the image that will forever be burnt into my memory. My father dragged their bodies in the front yard, one by one. Besides telling my brother what happened, and after the burial of our mother, we never brought it up again. 

The second and third break-in, we were able to defend ourselves before anything worse happened. I suffered from a few bruises and scratches from the fight but I was able to take a shot at one of the intruders, my father aimed at the other one. 

My father and I were a team, we became closer than I could ever imagine within those months after my mother’s death. My brother withdrew a bit, went back into his shell. He’s 16, so it’s expected with our situation. I loved my brother, he always looked to me for advice and reassurance. While he was withdrawing, he would draw a lot more than usual. He was really good with art for him being so young— he would sketch these amazing self portraits with so much detail, it was like you were looking at a photograph. Other times, he would draw dark figures surrounding himself with thought bubbles saying harsh things. I was worried about him for awhile. I made sure to keep a close eye on him, and always talk to him about his feelings. Nathan was such a kind, sensitive, and thoughtful person. Throughout our childhood, we were as close as ever. Seeing him be put through tragedy broke my heart in a million pieces. 

Seasons came and went, and when summer came back around, there was a short duration of time where the power came on for a few hours, surprisingly. We were able to fill more water jugs, take a quick shower with running water, and have a bit of light. All we had were LED flashlights. The only things that we really needed was to stock up on water and to shower. We all spent the last few hours of luxury we had, watching movies on our DVD player. It felt normal for once, we laughed at humorous scenes, cried at the ones that tugged at our hearts. All we were missing was our mother. Near the end of the second movie, the lights started to flicker and then cut out. 

The movie stopped, the screen returned to it’s blackened state. It was upsetting. Feeling as if everything was back to how it should be for a few hours and then it being ripped away, unexpectedly. The power never came back. I often wondered why that was the only time we were able to access it. The government didn’t even chime in to tell us anything. I’m assuming it was a trial and error with fixing the power plants. Maybe the engineers didn’t know that it was fixed, and started fucking with it again. Maybe they wanted us to have a taste for it, and then do away with it for good. 

My brother’s birthday eventually came, it was exciting for me. He was 18 years old, with so much life ahead of him. I always liked to make him things and make sure he has a good day whether we’re cooped up in this house or not. It was early in the morning, so I didn’t expect him to be awake. I started to make him peanut butter cookie dough and some hot cocoa— even though we didn’t have hot water. So it was basically cold cocoa, but the thought is what counts. Remind him a bit of our childhood, letting him know our mother was with us in spirit. My father wrote him a card, writing how much he loves and cares for him and how proud he is of my brother. 

We sat together, waiting for my brother to wake up. It felt like forever, all I can remember thinking was how much I loved him and how thankful I was to have the connection I did with him. 

It was past noon, and Nathan wasn’t awake yet. My dad told me he was going to go into mom’s room and look around to find a small gift for him, to make it special. I had the idea to write poem about the strength my brother had, and how to pursue his dreams and aspirations, despite our situation. This wasn’t going to last forever— at some point everything will be normal again. We’ve suffered enough, and he can do anything he puts his mind to. _The power has to come on, the internet has to return._

I decided it was time to wake my brother up. I was tired of waiting for him, so I was going to bring the cookie dough and cold cocoa up to him, along with the poem I wrote. I rehearsed it in my head. 

I knocked, _”Nate?”_

No answer, of course. He was probably knocked out— there was nothing else to do but sleep the day away. I opened the door, and I saw him passed out and slumped over his desk. He’s never slept like this before, not for this long at that position. There was an odd sound as if the ceiling was leaking, droplets smacking the floor. 

_Drip...drip...drip..._

I started to slowly walk closer, the cup of cocoa shakes and spills over. My eyes search for the source of the dripping, looking up at the ceiling— I saw nothing. I looked at the walls— nothing. I started to feel nauseous and my hands began to feel even more shaky. My nerves were shot. I saw the culprit, my eyes followed the puddle of liquid near Nathan’s feet, and followed the stream that seemed to be rolling off of his desk. 

I felt my heart drop into my stomach. My fingers released the cocoa and cookie dough. I was scared— this wasn’t normal. I glanced at his desk, where all his artwork was, saturated in a tarry substance. Right underneath his hidden hand, I saw a glimmer of steel. 

I walked closer, right up on him, and the scent of rust filled my nostrils. My heart was shattering as every second went past, knowing damn well what was happening. I shook his shoulder and I sucked in a deep breath as a large knife fell from my brothers hand, as he sat unresponsive. I looked him up and down and he had a deep gaping gash across his throat, bleeding out. The blood was a dark reddish brown, almost like mud. I didn’t know what to do in that moment but let out a gut wrenching shriek and fell back into a corner, bawling my eyes out. 

My father rushed in and panicked at what he saw. He cried as he shook Nathan and begged the Universe to bring him back. My brother didn’t deserve what happened to him— he didn’t deserve any of this. I would change places in a heart beat, if that meant him being able to live the rest of his life without pain. 

We couldn’t leave him there— we had to bury him. My father picked his body up, and we took him into the backyard. We both dug the six foot hole in the ground in complete silence. I was in shock from seeing my brother with a cut against the throat, just like our mother. Funny enough, we never told him about the wound. I knew he was in pain, but I didn’t know he was in so much that he would take his own life. 

Years passed us by, nothing ever changed. There was a few times when a couple of hours the power returned, the internet even came back once or twice for an hour. My father and I did the same thing, almost every single day. We were still really close, but something definitely changed in him when my brother died. He became more distant. I did one thing, he did another. Once in awhile we did something together. We still talked and shared things— we was still always there for me. He just needed to be alone more often. 

Break-ins still occurred, but not on a daily basis. Once every two weeks or so. We had close calls sometimes, and every time I wished more and more that the intruders would have ended my life. I felt nothing. I still feel nothing. Losing the people you love, takes a drastic impact on you. I couldn’t sleep, I kept seeing my brother in my dreams. 

My father came to a point where he couldn’t comfort me anymore. 

I woke up one morning to a note on my bedside table reading,  
_”Colleen, I love you. I have to admit to you though, that I feel broken. I feel as if I’ve changed, I don’t feel like the father you know and love. Everything in this house reminds me of loss, I don’t know how to handle it. It feels like living in a god damn cemetery. We didn’t deserve this life, none of us. I am truly sorry for leaving you. I know that you may not forgive me and I don’t expect you to, but please know that you will be the last thing on my mind.”_

I didn’t understand why he left me— why wouldn’t he take me with him? I thought we were a team no matter what. He selfishly left me alone. I guess he was right, living in this house was the equivalent of living in a fucking cemetery. Every corner of this house was filled with death. From my mother, to intruders, to my brother, and back at intruders again. This place was haunted, I was sure of it. 

Four month later, I am still alone. I talk to the blood stains, reminisces of my mother and brother. It’s honestly quite depressing. I don’t eat, I haven’t been sleeping— my world is a never ending cycle of disappointment and heart ache. 

The power, for the most part, has been restored; although it sometimes goes out for a few hours at a time. The internet is touchy, it works occasionally. Most of the time it’s slow but, given it’s been almost 10 years without it, anything is better than nothing at all. 

I’ve lost my entire family, but the world slowly returned to normal. My mother and my brother rotting in the backyard, my father off to god knows where. Lastly, myself; sitting in my room, writing this letter to the world, for whoever cares, whoever will read this. My life was almost for nothing, but maybe if I write this and share my story, my life will be for something after I’m long gone. 

People always admire writers after they’ve died, right?


End file.
